A colourful Appeal

I stand alone, as i have been standing for the past fifty years in the backyard of a hundred year old house that has so far managed to survive in this city that changes landskapes like people change clothes. There i go again. I am yet again thinking of those colorful clothes. The inmates of the house refer to me as 'the big tree'. It has never occured to them to find out what tree i am, it doesnt matter to them. They are happy with the shade i provide and are proud of the green colour of my leaves. Infact they admire me when i flower. As though they behold a rainbow. My leaves are green and can be only green as they have always been other than in autumn when they turn yellow only to fall. My flowers are always the same yellow. Not even a shade paler or brighter, much to my disgust. Every summer i send out a prayer, an appeal to you to change it to some fresh new colour. Why doesnt my prayer reach you, O Lord. Please, this year, turn the leaves crimson red after the fall. These humans talk endlessly and inadvertently about the greenery. I would love to give them a nice surprise. I need a change.

Rain

Thunder. Hailstorm. Alarm. The Rain painted the colour of panic on a green peaceful city, mercilessly pouring down on the animates and inanimates without discretion. The resoluteness of the mighty trees that line the streets, the exhibition of shoddy and substandard work done by the city electricity company in laying of electric poles, the silence and peace of the night and the element which the humans called courage, collapsed attesting the power of devastation displayed by the storm. Proxy rivers ran through parts of the city on self paved paths, culminating into the horrifyingly overflowing stormwater drains, much to the excitement of innocent children at the prospect of sailing paper boats and to the horror of the adults who set their minds busy calculating the damage to life and property. The reaction of the senior citizens was stereotype and consisted mainly of shaking of their heads in disgust and mumbling almost inaudibly about the collective sins of the community. Night could neither turn to heaven nor earth for peace since both assured only chaos. The invisible omnipresent wind that had acquired horrendous velocity made its presence felt to every breating heart. The later part of the day, wept in its helplessness and slept with the inmates of the city, both wanting to believe that they are a witness only to a nightmare.

Its summer. The sun started his journey early, oblivious to the events of the night awakening the day as it always did. The day woke with a smile, positive and promising, forgiving the absense of the sun that caused havoc the previous night. The clouds are far away, there is still time ...